


A MEMENTO TO THE STUDENTS OF THE INDIANA UNIVERSITY. 

AN 

ADDRESS 

DELIVERED BEFORE THE 

PHILOIATHEAN SOCIETY, 

AT THE 

ANNUAL COMMENCEMENT, 

AUGUST 5. 1856. 

BY i:)ANIEL1^EAD, LL. I). 

LATE PROFESSOR IN THE 

INDIANA UNIVERSITY, 

NOW OF THE 
STATE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN. 



BLOOMINGTON: 

PUBLISHED BY ORDER OP THE SOCIETY. 

1856. 



MEMENTO TU THE STUDENTS OE THE INDIANA UNIVERSITY. 
AN 

ADDRESS 

DELIVERED BEFORE THE 

PHILOIATHEAN SOCIETY 

AT THE 

ANNUAL COMMENCEMENT, 

AUGUST 5, 1856. 

BY DANIEL READ, LL. !)„ 

LATE PROFESSOR IN THE -- 

INDIANA UNIVERSITY, 

NOW OF THE 
STATE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN. 



/ 

BLOOMINGTON: 

PUBLISHED BY ORDER OF THE SOCIETY, 

1856, 




"o 



/ 






CORRESPONDENCE. 



Indiana University, Phii.omathean Hall, ) 
August 6th, 1850. S 

Dear Sir: 

On behalf of the Philomathean Society, it is our agreeable duty to render 
you the unanimous thanks of its members for the excellent address, delivered 
by you before them on last evening. 

Tlie Society, believing the address to be eminently worthy of preservation, 
respectfully requests a copy for pviblication. 

H. S. McRAE, >^ 

J. E. WILLIAMS, I 
J. D. PEKING, > Committee. 

W. S. MAJOR, I 

A. F. WISE, J 

Prof Daniel Read, LL. D. 

Bloomington, August 6th, 1856. 
Gentlemen: 

A copy of the address delivered by ni6 last evening is, according to your 
request, herewith at your disposal. 

With affectionate regard, I remain. 

Yours truly, 

D. READ. 
Messrs. McRae, Williams, Peeing, Major, and Wise. 



ADDRESS. 



Gentlemen of the Philomathean Society: 

By your appointment, I stand before you, your speaker foi* 
this anniversary occasion. It is my purpose, without apolo- 
gy or preface, without attempting to round a period or polish 
a sentence, to address you simply in your character as stu- 
dents. 

Mere literary display is no part of my design. We willy 
if you please, for the hour, forget the externals of this scene. 
1 will sp«ak to you>, and to you only; and just as though none 
were here present except ourselves and your fellow-students 
of this beloved University. I will speak tc you once more as 
your old instructor, earnest only for your true and best in- 
terests. You will once more listen to me with the same con- 
fidence and affection as often heretofore in the chapel or re- 
citation room. 

Standing before you in the relations in which I now do, I 
may without indelicacy appeal to you, that in my intercourse 
with you, at all times, it has been my steady and faithful en- 
deavor, not merely to teach you a certain amount of Latin, 
and Greek, but to perform the office of the true educator in 
training and stimulating you to all that is excellent and 
praiseworthy in character — to all that is high and manly in 
purpose and action — to form you, in intellect and in heart*, 
brave and good men for the State, for society, for yourselves', 
in this life and the life to come. 

Gentlemen, another College year has silently and swiftly 
glided by. With all the past, it is forever beyond your reach; 



It is sealed up in that 'book which fixes the final destiny of all. 
Whether improved, or whether unimproved, it is gone, audit 
is gone forever. No sighs of regret on your part can recall 
a single lost moment; no tears of anguish can bring back a 
misimproved opportunity. 

Standing at this dividing point of time — those of you who 
are yet a while to linger here in "Art's trophied dwelling. 
Learning's green retreat;" — if I can utter a sentiment which 
shall stir you up to higher and better resolves; or, you the lit- 
tle band who are now to go forth with all the world before 
you where to choose, if I can say a word which shall tend to 
set your faces as flint for those conflicts which are before you, 
I shall rejoice in this opportunity of once more addressing 
you, pupils dearly beloved, by the remembrance not only of 
acts of personal respect, but of your fidelity to the Universi- 
ty in its severest trials; if I can say to you any such words, 
happy and more than happy shall I consider myself in the 
falfiUment of the oflice for the evening vvhich your kindness 
has devolved upon me. 

Young gentlemen, you are students. You are students in 
a University. What does this imply? Why, that in God's 
Providence, great and extraordinary advantages have fallen 
to your lot — advantages far beyond those of others — advan- 
tages which may place you — nay, which ought to place you, 
in the front rank of usefulness in your day and generation. 
But remember — oh! remember, my young friends, if these ad- 
vantages are neglected and despised, perverted and misim- 
proved, they sink you below the ordinary level. In the opin- 
ion of the world — and vthat is more to you, in your own con- 
sciousness — they sink you below those to whom no such priv- 
ileges have fallen. To have been to College, and to have de- 
rived no substantial benefit from College associations and in- 
structions, is one of the greatest blights and curses that can 
rest upon any youth. More hope, far more hope, is there of 
liim who at manhood has scarcely opened a book, than of 
that student, falsely so called, who, without a single manly 
effort or soul-stirring aspiration, has by sufferance loitered 
'out and lounged out his years of College life. 

The great Bonaparte— Bonaparte the magnificent— after 



he had achieved a sublimity of fortune wiiich no human being 
had ever before .re ached, as the great patron of learning and 
education in France, visited one of the colleges. When 
about to leave, he made to the students this short speech: 
"My young friends, every hour lost here is a chance for future 
wretchedness." Let me now appeal to you, have you, ac- 
cording to this principle, during the past year, created against 
yourselves any chances of wretchedness in the future? I 
would not, without cause, awaken a single unpleasant reflec- 
tion in any mind, amidst the festivities and enjoyments of 
this anniversary. But the past is the proper monitor of the 
future. There are all along the journey of life great land- 
marks; there are dividing points at which it becomes us as 
thinking beings to pause and look back upon the past, and 
forward to the future. Such a point in the student's life is 
the close of the College year — the commencement to him of 
a new stage of duty — the beginning of new progress — the 
starting point of a new life and of new hopes. It is to the 
student the time for a sober review of the past; it is the time 
for forming new resolutions as to the future; it is, in short, a 
commencement time. 

Young men, what a student is in habit and principle in 
College, that, ordinarily, is he during the rest of life, only in- 
creasing in degree according to a natural progress. 

"The tissue of your lives to be 

Ye -weave in colors all your own, 
And on the field of destiny 

Ye'U reap, as ye have sown." 

Those who in College are idle, disorderly, or vicious, with few- 
exceptions wax worse and worse, until they are cast forth 
from the pale of society as lost — ^^lost to themselves — lost to 
every manly and virtuous principle. 

On the other hand, those who during College life have been 
industrious, faithful in every duty, well-principled and virtu- 
ous, confirming their College habits as they enter society, rise 
in public estimation, until they attain the highest posts of 
honor and usefulness. This is the history of all those distin- 
guished men who have gone forth from our different Ameri- 
can Colleges. College life — I npcak it emphatically — Col- 



lege life is tlie very forming period ol cluiracter. It i« the 
time when you make, or when you ruin yourselves; the time 
wlien you carve out your characters, and give tliem the Ibrm 
and lineaments which they will forever after bear. 

"Chisel in hand, stood a sculptor hoy, 

With his marble block before him. 
And his face lit up with a smile of joy 

As an angel dream passed o'er him; 
He carved the dream on that shapeless stone, 

With many a sharp incision; 
With heaven's own light the sculpture shone; 

He had caught the angel vision."' 

I apply to you, young gentlemen, in your present condition 
as students, the remaining stanza of this beautiful little 
poem, thrown out by its author, Bishop Doane, as a waif up- 
on the current of our American literature: 

"Sculptors of life are ye, as ye stand 

With your souls uncarved before j'ou, 
Waiting the hour when, at God's command, 

Your life dream passes o'er you. 
If ye carve it then on the yielding stone, 

With many a sharp incision. 
Its heavenly beauty shall be your own — 

Your lives that angel vision." 

Seize your present golden opportunity, 1 beseech you, and 
with stern purpose chisel out, it may be with many a sharp 
incision, that character of beauty, excellence, and usefulness 
which as an angel vision rises up to your imagination as your 
ideal of human perfection. 

Gentlemen, you may be almost what you choose to be. 
But you must be the makers of yourselves — eaurcuv Tzocy^rcu 
— self-creators. Not Professors, not libraries, not literary as- 
sociations, not four years in College, not ten of them, not all 
the advantages, outside your own selves, which the world af- 
fords, can make you scholars. Others may point you to the 
way, may spread before you the means and opportunities of 
knowledge, may lead you to the fountains of wisdom; but 
you must for yourselves partake. By your own talents, in- 
dustry, and energy alone, can you be made scholars. There 



is no royal von.d to learning anymore now tliaii thei'fe was 
three thousand years ago. There is no primrose path of 
ease and dalliance. With all our railroads, and steam en- 
gines, and telegraphs, the same vulgar road of toil and per- 
severance trodden by all the learned and wise before you, is 
still the road to knowledge which you will have to travel. 

Be not deceived; you are engaged in a great and most ar- 
duous work. Whatever the world may think, the life of the 
true student is the farthest possible from a life of ease and 
laziness. It is a life of toil — of painful and protracted effort 
— of earnest and anxious thought; but toilsome though it be, 
it has high, exciting, soul-thrilling enjoyments, compensating 
for all its toil. The ardor and engrossing enthusiasm with 
which scholars in all ages have pursued their favorite studies, 
amidst the greatest trials and privations, is the best proof of 
the exquisite and satisfying nature of these pleasures. 

Let me say, in all candor, to any one commencing the life 
of a student, if you are addicted to self-indulgence and pleas- 
ure, to recreation and pastime; if you cannot bear restraint 
and solitary thought, be not so weak as to suppose the life of 
the student suited to you. Think not of one of the learned 
professions, unless you are resolved to labor hard at study, 
and can make it the very joy and delight of your life. The 
time has gone by for fourth-rate mediocrity In those avoca- 
tions which require the highest acquisitions and best efforts 
of the keenest and most cultivated intellects. 

I need not tell you that the most dangerous enemy to all 
vigorous intellectual effort which you have to encounter, is 
sloth. This, your arch-enemy, will approach you under a 
thousand insidious forms. Sometimes it will assume the mask 
of friendship, and whisper.,to you that your health is failing, 
and that you are unable to study. Sometimes it will quote 
Scripture — "Much study is a weariness of the flesh" — and in- 
vite you into company and to the study of human nature in 
stores and at street corners. Sometimes it will persuade you 
that your manners need the refining influence of female so- 
ciety; sometimes, even, it may assume the garb of an angel 
of light, and invite you to a multiplicity of religious meetings. 
It will anon approach you with books and ncwspaperH, and 



solicit you to a kind of general, desultory reading, which 
serves no valuable purpose in quickening and energizing the 
mind. Sometimes it spreads before you polite literature in 
the form of novels, romances, or tales of real life. When you 
hear it said of a student that he does not study much upon 
his lessons, but then he is a great realer, you may, in nine 
cases out of ten, set him down as the merest idler. Yield 
not, I entreat you, to any of these solicitations. Idleness is 
the mother of all mischief. "Why," says the ancient poet, 
"was yEgystheus so wicked?" and immediately makes this 
answer: "The reason is obvious; he was idle." This is almost 
always the true answer as to the cause of crime in all its 
forms. How came this man to be a drunkard, a gambler, a 
burglar, an assassin? He was idle, is the answer. Why 
street brawls and night disturbances in our towns and villa- 
ges? We have idle boys and youth, is the answer. There 
is a sentence in one of your text books worthy the thoughtful 
consideration of every man, and especially of every student. 
It is this: "It is a mistake," says the author, "to believe that 
none but violent passions triumph over the other active prin- 
ciples. Laziness — sheer, downright laziness — often gets the 
mastery of them all; overrules all the designs and actions of 
life, and alike consumes and destroys both passions and vir- 
tues." 

The history of those young men in our Colleges who dis- 
grace themselves and their friends is a short one, and soon 
told. They love the society of the idle and the vicious, and 
soon grow like them. They learn to despise the ambition 
of the true student, and the honors and pleasures of study. 
They make the discovery that Greek, the Calculus, Logic, 
in short, every study that is the very test — the touchstone 
— of intellect, are not "practical studies;" are of no use; will 
do them no good. They perchance fancy themselves geni- 
uses, though they have made no respectable acquisitions in 
any department. If there is anything connected with a lib- 
eral course which they would essay to cultivate, it is what 
they imagine to be popular speaking, and which, so far as 
they are its exponents, is the eloquence^of mere sound, with- 
out thought or reasoning, and little better for the distinct and 



discriminating- impression it gives than the Chinese gong. 
They do not know that the first part of all true eloquence is 
to have something to say, and that the saying of nothing, 
however well said, can never be real eloquence. 

Those students who do not seek distinction in intellectual 
eftort, in the walks of honorable ambition, are very sure to 
seek it in some other way, feeling that since they are at Col- 
lege, they must do something by which they will distinguish 
themselves. 

Near three hundred years ago, Roger Ascham, the cele- 
brated tutor of Queen Elizabeth, the greatest teacher of his 
times, wrote a book which he called "The Scholemaster." 
He enumerates seven cardinal points of good promise in the 
student. He gives them in Greek, and I will repeat them to 
you in his own language. The first quality he names is 
Eocpvu^ — of good natural genius; the second is Mvqiioiv — of 
good memory; the third, 0do[iad-f](; — I may as well translate 
it Philomathean — provided, only, you will admit that many 
Athenians are good Philomatheans; Otlojtovoc, — loving work; 
0d'f]xouz — fond of hearing — he don't mean fond of hearing the 
news, fond of hearing political speeches, fond of hearing idle 
talk — he means, eager to hear the instructions of the recitation 
room, and this is the proper translation of the word as here 
used. The next quality is Z-qTqxc/.oz — inquisitive, given to 
searching out matters. The student who has this quality will 
never be content with the surface, he will go to the very bot- 
tom of ail his studies. The last quality is 0cX&7iaivo(; — desi- 
rous of approbation, seeking the approbation of his instruct- 
ors, of his parents, of all the wise and good. You will not 
fail to observe that four of these words begin with Qc?m, im- 
plying that the love, the very soul of the student, must be in 
his work. 

I now propose, my young friends, if you will give me your 
attention, to tell your fortunes. There is a question which is 
very apt to be agitated in every body of men, old or young. 
It is the question, "Who shall be greatest?" — the same which 
was raised even among the disciples of our Savior. This in- 
teresting question I propose to resolve for you; not to tell 
who now is greatest; but to foretell who of you will be 
2 



10 

greatest on the stage of life's theater; who of this gradu- 
ating class, what student now in the University, will make 
the greatest figure, and become most renowned among men. 
In doing this, I shall not resort to necromancy, or chiromancy^ 
or oneiromancy, or any other form of manteia, ancient or 
modern. Most certainly I shall not resort to that most 
stupid of all the forms of wicked and vulgar delusion which, 
in ancient or modern times, has sought to divine the future 
and unfold the mysteries of the unsearchable; which makes 
Socrates, Bacon, and Franklin rap out on table leaves such 
absurdities and platitudes as would show that these great 
spirits of earth had, in their passage to the spirit land, be- 
come idiots, or else that their interpreters are silly impostors. 
I shall not look to the stars, or calculate your horoscope by 
the conjunction of planets, friendly or unfriendly, at your na- 
tal hour. I have means, far less fallible, of predicting your 
future career — long experience with young men. Now listen, 
and I will tell you who of your number will be greatest. It 
may not possibly be the one whom, you would select as the 
genius, or even as the "smart fellow." But I tell you, that 
one among you will be the most successful, the most useful, 
will rise highest, who is habitually the most industrious and 
persevering, who never falters, who is never discouraged, who 
is always at his post, who works right on, steadily, doggedly, 
yet cheerfully and heartily; vi^hose motto is that of the great 
English Chancellor, "/a6or i/J5e ^•oZ^iJ5to5;" whom no difficulty 
daunts, no allurement seduces, no vice drags down; whose 
zeal never fails; who is always pressing forward, though all 
others may grow languid and yield to surrounding tempta- 
tions. You see this student at work on Saturdays; at the be- 
ginning of the session and at the end he is the same. So in- 
defatigable, so untiring in labor, that he seems a man with 
heart of oak and sinews of brass. Mark that student; you 
will hear of him again. He is destined to distinction, per- 
haps to the very highest eminence. He cannot fail. His 
rise is not problematical. It is just as sure as the continu- 
ance of life and health. That one of your number who most 
completely fills up this portraiture will, in future years, be the 
pride and ornament of the University, will be the man of 



11 

mark, will be the one with whom his companions and class- 
mates will love, years hence, to claim kindred, and to say, "I 
was his classmate — he was with me at the University." You 
may not, and probably will not, remember him as so remark- 
able for anything as for his indomitable and unswerving in- 
dustry. The law of success, young gentlemen, is the same 
in all great undertakings, everywhere: MeXer/] to Tzau — indus- 
try — industry every thing. Sir William Jones, who acquired 
a knowledge of twenty-eight languages, and was wonderful 
for his attainments in every department of learning, when 
asked how he had made such acquisitions, replied in these 
words: "Only by industry and regular apphcation." New- 
ton, the prince of British sages, ascribed his success, not to 
superior genius, but to superior industry; to the habit and the 
power he had acquired of holding his mind down steadily and 
for a long time to the study of an involved and difficult sub- 
ject. "The discovery of gravitation, the grand secret of the 
Universe," in the words of Sir William Hamilton, "was not 
whispered in his ear by an oracle. It did not visit him in a 
morning dream. It did not fall into his lap, a windfall from 
the clouds." But he reached it by self-denying toil, by mid- 
night study, by the large command of accurate science, and 
by bending all his powers in one direction and keeping them 
thus bent. Have you read Irving's Life of Columbus, and 
paused upon the wonderful man presented to your concep- 
tion in "the world-seeking Genoese?" Industry is the great 
and leading trait ol his character; an industry sustained by 
unfailing perseverance, and animated by an enthusiasm al- 
most divine. He first becomes the profound student of geog- 
raphy; acquaints hims6lf perfectly with all that was known 
of the earth's surface. This knowledge suggests to him the 
idea of a new continent. The great idea seizes him, posses- 
ses him, carries him forward to the greatest result, with a 
single exception, in our world's history. 

Gentlemen, think of these things; think of these great 
achievements. Why there is no such vi^ord as impossible. 
It is not good English; at any rate it is not Anglo-Saxon. 
Don't, I pray you, naturalize the word in your vocabulary. 
Some one has said, God has given us arms long enough to 



12 

reach any object, in the Universe, if we will but stretch them 
forth. 

You have, gentlemen, various views in regard to the future. 
in the language of the philosophic poet, 

"The claims 
Of social life to different labors \irge 
The active powers of man; with wise intent, 
The hand of nature on peculiar minds 
Imprints a different bias, and to each 
Decrees its province in the common toil." 

But, whatever you undertake, you will feel the need of 
thoroughly disciplined minds, of great knowledge, of deep re- 
search, and a perfect command of your powers. Some of 
you may be called to barbarous tribes of men to act as mis- 
sionaries of knowledge and Christianity. Your first step, in 
that case, would be to reduce a language merely spoken to 
the written form; to make an alphabet of sounds to your ears 
strange and dissonant; to reduce to system peculiarities that 
^re without analogy in other languages; and unaided to make 
spelling books, grammars, dictionaries, and then translations 
of the Bible and standard works of European literature. Two 
members of a class who but a few years since occupied seats 
in this University, and I rejoice to say, eminently fitted for 
their work, are at this moment grappling with the language 
and literature of all others known upon the face of the earth, 
whether ancient or modern, the most difficult of attainment. 
Their high object is the introduction of Christianity andEuro- 
|)ean civilization into that great Empire which embraces 
more than one-third of the human family. Now, young gen- 
tlemen, let me ask who are fit for these great enterprises? Is 
it the College student who faints over a sentence of Latin or 
Greek; who with every help will not take the pains to under- 
stand the nature and power of words; and whose exegesis in 
the class-room consists of a grave shake of the head, and "/ 
rari't read it?'''' Shall we send forth such young men to this 
great work? No; we must have very different stuff. Or, in- 
'deed, can we have any hope that such young men will be fit 
■for those ordinary investigations in regard to the power and 
meaning of words which so often occur in law, theology, phi- 



13 

losophy, and indeed, in common literature? We want men 
for the field of science, to make abstruse mathematical and 
philosophic investigations; to take observations in various 
parts of the earth, and to go as savans upon the expeditions 
of scientific exploration which the spirit of the age is sending 
forth. The commission which under the appointment of our 
government went out some two or three years since, to es- 
tablish the boundary line between this country and Mexico, 
was less perfect than was desired, for the want of men of the 
highest scientific acquirement and experience, and such alone 
were desired for this service. The same is true of the late 
government expedition to Japan. Whom shall we expect for 
employments of this kind? Shall it be the student who falters 
at the blackboard, who stands mute and motionless, and 
whose Quod erat demonstrandum is ^^IcanH do it?"'' 

We want men in our courts of law, who shall investigate 
long, perplexed, and intricate questions of right, requiring 
patient, intense, incumbent attention for days and sometimes 
for weeks. Who shall be set apart for this work? Shall it 
be students of superficial, diluted, dissipated habits of study? 
Shall it be those who cannot give a clear definition or division 
of a moral subject? No, young gentlemen, we want you, but 
you must gird yourselves up, you must prepare yourselves — 
some for one department and some for another, but all for 
usefulness, all for eminence. 

What shall we say of another class of students; I call them 
students, lucus a non lucendo; those who, when they come to a 
difficult subject, give up; in fact, stultify themselves, by say- 
dng they have no taste for it — no genius for it? No, certain- 
ly they have no genius for hard work, for close thinking, for a 
patient application of all the powers of the mind in a single 
direction. Shall we commission them to any of these great 
undertakings in behalf of society? Surely not; surely not. 
They have chosen for themselves their own place; they have 
set a low mark, they hold themselves born for a miserable 
mediocrity, and are to be set down as belonging to that nu- 
merous, and perhaps necessary, class, of whom you read m. 
Horace, "fruges consumere nati''' — men born to consume the 
fruits of the earth; men who are good — good 



14 

•'To eat, and drink, and sleep, aud theu 
To eat, and drink, and sleep again." 

Away, away with that thnidity which attempts Uttle and of 
course accorapUshes less. Stretch out your arms; stretch out 
your arms; they are long enough to lay hold of any good in 
the universe, which God designs for man. "A great deal of 
talent," says Sidney Smith, "is lost in this world for want of a 
little courage. Every day sends to their graves a number of 
obscure men, who have only remained in obscurity because 
their timidity has prevented them from making a first effort; 
and who, if they could have been induced to begin, would in 
all probability have gone great lengths in the career of fame. 
The fact is, that to do anything in this world worth doing, we 
must not stand back shivering, and thinking of the cold 
and the danger, but jump in and scramble through as well 
as we can. It will not do to be perpetually calculating 
tasks, and adjusting nice chances; it did very well before 
the flood, where a man could consult his friends upon an 
intended publication for an hundred and fifty years, and 
then live to see its success afterwards; but at present a 
man waits, and doubts, and hesitates, and consults his 
brother, and his uncle, and his particular friends, till one 
fine day he finds that he is sixty years of age; that he 
has lost so much time in consulting his first cousin and 
particular friends, that he has no more time to follow 
their advice." 

"Why, young gentlemen, it is not even now too early for 
yon, with youthful ardor and enthusiasm, to form and cher- 
ish purposes which it will be the labor of your future 
lives to execute. How many of our best literary produc- 
tions were designed while their authors, like you, were yet 
at College! How many noble projects of philanthropy 
have there been devised, which in their execution have car- 
ried blessings to millions! 

It is a remarkable fact in the history of human charac- 
ter, that nearly all those master minds which have con- 
trolled and energized the world, have in early youth form- 
ed, and not unfrequently to a considerable extent matured, 
their plans of future action. In illustration of this idea, I 



15 

might point you to the examples of those who have been 
greatly successful in any department of human action; in 
arms, to Alexander, Caesar, and Bonaparte; in letters, to Ci- 
cero, Milton, and Sir William Jones; in the fine arts, to Titian, 
Michael Angelo, and Sir Joshua Reynolds; in the mechanic 
arts, to our own Fulton and Perkins; in politics, to Fox, the 
younger Pitt, Alexander Hamilton, the recently deceased Sir 
Kobert Peel, and to most of our great American statesmen. 

That high and noble decision, or I might call it daring of 
character, which seems to be an essential prerequisite to emi- 
nent success, is acquired and matured by having constantly 
before the mind, even from early youth, some distinct and 
definite purpose of life. It is true that the regulation of every 
man's plan, in its details and minute parts, must depend up- 
on the course of events, the order of which no human saga- 
city can foresee or anticipate. But the man of determined 
spirit and resolved purpose of soul, so seizes upon passing 
events and circumstances, so controls and accommodates 
them to his grand and ruling object, that even those appa- 
rently most fortuitous and unforeseen, contribute to his main 
purpose. 

Another reason why the man v»?ho early forms his plan of 
life is the successful man, is, that all the passions and feel- 
ings become concentrated in a single point, and thus carry 
him forward with an undivided and irresistible energy to the 
accomplishment of his designs. The early devised and early 
pursued plan of life becomes so interwoven with the whole 
man, with his whole character, with his very existence itself, 
that it becomes the ruling, guiding principle. It is the first 
love. It possesses and sways the man. It has the fresh, 
buoyant, unexhausted energies of his youth. It grows with 
the growth and strengthens with the strength. The purpose 
thus cherished becomes to the man the star of his destiny. No 
longer is time lost in resolving and re-reaolving; in delibera- 
tion and counter deliberation. No spirits are wasted, no pas- 
sions are fretted, in dubious and abortive resolutions, wheth- 
er to do or not to do, whether to act or not to act. 

It has passed into a maxim of our language that know- 
ledge is po\ver. But the will, that master principle of our 



IG 

nature, is in a much higher degree power. No man with a 
feeble or uncertain will was ever great. Volition and action 
— to will and to do — are one and the same thing in those 
minds made to achieve success on the battle-jfield of life. We 
have in the great philanthropist, Howard, (and I am happy 
that 1 can present an example of the highest energy of will 
not taken from the list of military chieftains and heroes), as 
remarkable an instance of this power as ever existed in a 
human being. The energy of his determination, says Foster, 
in his celebrated essay on decision of character, was so great, 
that if, instead of being habitual, it had been shown only for 
a short time on particular occasions, it would have appeared 
a violent impetuosity. But, because it was unintermitted, it 
scarcely seemed to exceed the tone of a calm constancy. 
The moment of finishing his plans in deliberation and com- 
mencing them in action was the same. The man of strong 
will, of decided purpose, first of all subjugates himself, brings 
all his own motives to bear with intensity in carrying out his 
designs, and by an almost divine energy of volition puts down 
every counter sentiment, overrules every laggard principle, 
banishes cowardice, indolence, love of pleasure, self-indul- 
gence. The habitual measure of the passion of his soul be- 
comes equal to the paroxysms and temporary extremes of oth- 
er minds. Having thus first carried himself, made himself a 
whole man to his object, whatever it may be, he is prepared 
to energize and sway the wills and actions of others. Here 
you have the real, the earnest of human life; you have the 
great, the heroic in human action. 

But that young man, no matter how young he may be, who 
meditates and cherishes in iiis inmost soul some project of 
usefulness, some noble undertaking of patriotism or philan- 
thropy, will never be turned aside by the allurements of vice. 
The temper of such a spirit is, I am engaged in a great work, 
and cannot come down. What are all the solicitations of 
pleasure, or ease, or idleness, to such a one? Some citadel 
of mischief is to be stormed; some enemy of his country or 
his race is to be vanquished; some deed of philanthropy is to 
be achieved; some good institution is to be established and 
built up. All inferior things must succumb and yield to the 



17 

grand object continually before his mind. If there be any- 
thing grand in human conduct, if there be such a thing as 
the moral sublime, we have it, assuredly, in that youth, in 
that young student, who forms his purpose, and amidst all 
temptations, all difficulties, all discouragements; amidst all 
sufferings of the body, all agonies of the mind, pushes for- 
ward with steady and resolute aim, with undiverted eye, with 
untiring and unflinching nerve, to its accomplishment. He 
has sworn upon the altar, not eternal hatred to Rome, as did 
the Carthaginian, but the achievement of some great or good 
design; and he cannot go back, he cannot be turned aside. 
In College he is arming himself with his panoply of future 
warfare. He has no time to lose; he has no opportunities to 
waste. Never, never can he stoop to the pleasures and 
amusements of idlers and triflers, any more than the sun tra- 
versing its bright course amidst the shining spheres of the 
heavens, can come down to the earth! A few such students 
are a treasure to any College. They give it tone and char- 
acter. They are worth more to it than a host of the thought- 
less and indolent. Let this be the spirit prevailing among 
the students of the Indiana University, and it is safe. No 
matter what may be its numbers, be they few or be they 
many, its influence will be felt, far and wide, in all the great 
interests of society. Could m}^ voice prevail with our Amer- 
ican Colleges, I would say, Cut down your numbers without 
fear, and thereby increase your power; sift, select, separate, 
purge out, mitil you have only men, though but a select few 
— men who are fitted to do the highest work of society. 

But, young gentlemen, you ask. Is not the time past when 
great things remain to be done, or important services to be 
rendered to our country or society? Where shall we go to 
execute designs of usefulness, and what, indeed, shall those 
designs be? You look forth upon society; you behold its sta- 
tions of honor preoccupied. The field of effort and useful- 
ness appears before you a contracted one. You are perhaps 
discouraged as you survey the prospect. You feel that had 
you but lived in a different age, and under more auspicious 
circumstances; had you only been cast into existence at some 
important era in your country's history; had you been born 
3 



18 

at some great juncture, some crisis of the world; you could 
have done something great and worthy; you could have made 
yourselves a name which should have come down with honor 
among the benefactors of men. But now the time for these 
high achievements has passed by. No such opportunities 
remain. You must be content with a narrow sphere of ac- 
tion, with small efforts and corresponding results. Never 
was there a view more incorrect. In all the world's history, 
there has been no time like the present for great action. Be 
not led astray by that fallacy which points you to some dis- 
tant time or to some distant place. Look forth upon the world 
as your field of action. In the first place, this world was 
never so large as at present. Alexander the Great conquer- 
ed a small patch of the earth's surface, and claimed to have 
conquered the world, and even sighed for new worlds to con- 
quer. The Romans crept along the shores of the Midland 
Sea, annexed the adjacent territory, extended their domin- 
ion eastward to the Euphrates, and toward the North over- 
ran a portion of Europe; reached in their navigation some 
point which they were pleased to call ^^ Ultima Tfiule''' — Thule 
the farthest part of earth — and they too imagined they had 
conquered the whole world. It was their world, but the world 
of our day is a very different one. It embraces the surface of 
the whole planet; it offers a theatre for human activity such 
as in no other age has been known. To the present genera- 
tion, and at this very time, there are opening some of the 
finest portions of the earth, which hitherto have been closed 
against the enterprise and culture of civilized men. 

But not only is the world larger than ever before, but hu- 
man life is actually longer. Never was there a time when 
you might live so long. "All the days of Methuselah were 
nine hundred and sixty and nine years, and he died." That 
is all. That is the whole record of the longest life ever allot- 
ted mortal man, and a short, barren record, truly! 

"Life is not measured by the time we live; 
That life is long -which answers life's great end." 

For all the effective purposes of living, we may outlive by 
centuries the Methuselahs, and Enochs, and other patriarchs 



19 

of the antediluvian world. We may accomplish more, enjoy 
more, live more. 

Still another enlarged sphere of action, so far as you are 
concerned, is found in the extension of our native language, 
— the language in which we were born — our own English. 
Some two hundred years ago, the English language was spo- 
ken, read, and understood by less than two millions of people, 
and these, for the most part, on a mere speck of the earth, 
and even there it was but in partial use. But now its "line 
is gone out through all the earth, and its words to the end of 
the world." It is the language oi a hundred millions of the 
human race. It is spoken in immense territories in Asia, in 
Southern and Eastern Africa, in Australia, in numerous isle& 
of the sea; it has extended its domain in Europe, and it is 
here spoken upon a whole continent, and every year its pro- 
gress is widened and accelerated. What a source of power! 
v/hat an instrumentality! 

Young men, lift up your eyes. Behold the fields already 
white for the harvest! Where are the laborers? The har- 
vest truly is great. Alas! that the laborers are so lew! These 
fields are not in a far-off land. They are all around you. 
They are here in Indiana. They are here in all our great 
West. They are here in our whole country. The world, too, 
is the field. 

Men are wanted thoroughly to arouse the people on the 
subject of education, to devise wise and prudent plans, and 
to perfect a great scheme of general education, which shali 
carry the blessing of knowledge to every valley and every 
hill-side in our broad land where a child is found. Who will 
be the Oberlins, the Barnards, the Emersons of this work? 
Who of you will give reputation to the literature of the coun- 
try? Who will explore its natural history? Who, under the 
influence of divine grace, will awaken the people to a deep- 
er sense of religious duty? Who, in a word, will be our law- 
givers, our law-ministers, our physicians, our divines, ouir 
teachers, our writers? 

Is there not ample room in any of the departments I have 
indicated, for your best and highest effbrts? Is there not 
enough in a mere glance at them to stir up and arouse to the 



20 

utmost all your energies? Can you not see reason enough in 
the field before you, why you should make the most of these 
opportunities which you now enjoy; why you should acquaint 
yourselves with human knowledge in all its vast variety; 
why you should gird and prepare yourselves in mind, heart, 
and body for a great work? I appeal to you, gentlemen, in 
behalf of our country, in behalf of society; I appeal to you 
for yourselves. The work of human society is to be done; 
the destiny of the age is to be wrought out. The question 
for you to solve is, what part you will bear in the work; what 
position jou will occupy; what honors you will take; whether 
you will stand as princes and leaders in the onward march of 
society, or as laggards and hangers-on in its rear. 

Bat, you say, all the places in society are even now fully 
occupied; the judicial and political offices, the pulpits, the pro- 
fessorships in the colleges, and that crowds of expectants are 
awaiting every vacancy. Gentlemen, be not deceived; I pray 
you, be not deceived; stations and situations will be opened 
to you quite as soon as you will be qualified to receive them. 
Your great care must be that they do not come to you before 
you are prepared to fill them with honor to yourselves or use- 
fulness to your country. 

There are still one or two topics relating to you as stu- 
dents, which I wish barely to touch upon for the consideration 
of those of you who are still for a time to abide in the Uni- 
versity. One of these topics is public opinion, as existing in 
college, and constituting one of its governing elements. I 
mean that public opinion which is mainly formed by the stu- 
dents, and which operates among themselves. Here, as in 
the society of the great world, it sways, whether for good or 
for evil, a most potent influence. The public sentiment of 
the college, depending largely upon the students, must of 
course vary with the character of those who form it. Where 
the students, or the leading and influential students, are cor- 
rect in their habits, gentlemanly in their deportment, virtuous 
in their principles, and earnestly devoted to intellectual pur- 
suits, and preparation for high usefulness in future life, there 
public sentiment will be pure and elevated. Where they are 
loose in principle, coarse in feeling, and vicious in conduct, 



21 

the public sentiment they form will be correspondingly lax. 
Where college sentiment is as it should be, it is of itself the 
most efficient of all agents in the preser\^ation of order and 
good conduct. I have seen the public sentiment of students, 
not only maintain perfect order, but, session after session, for 
years, maintain a high standard of excellence. College sen- 
timent may, and ought to require a standard to which mere 
law and authority cannot attain. Low, indeed, is the moral 
sense of that community which does not rise above the stan- 
dard required by their laws. Right sentiments, prevailing 
among students, may reach cases which mere authority can- 
not reach. I have seen, in college, the student's talents and 
scholarship measured almost exclusively by his ability in wri- 
ting. I have seen mathematics the sole test of talent, and of 
course all the rage. I have seen the sentiment of a class, 
without any action of the Faculty, remove a student from the 
class, because he did not read Latin and Greek according to 
the standard required in the class. If the public sentiment of 
a literary institution is kept right, not much government by 
mere authority is needed. This is indeed the established 
mode by which this University has long been governed, and 
far better governed by the force of just sentiments prevailing 
among the students, than it could have been by any external 
authority whatever. 

I say to you, young gentlemen, as you are engaged in pur- 
suits of your own; drawn together from different parts of the 
country for these pursuits; as you are a community by your- 
selves; it is proper that you should maintain your own com- 
munity sentiment, your own separate college existence and 
identity; that you should not be fused in the mass around you. 
But see to it, that the standard of moral sentiment which you 
maintain is above that of the great world around you. Cher- 
ish a higher tone of honor, a purer morality, more elevated 
manners. Surely you, whose very sole business it is to cul- 
tivate your moral and intellectual natures, ought to stand 
above those who have no such opportunities. In relation to 
internal matters of the University, allow no busybodies out- 
side to form or influence your opinions, to distil secret poison 
into your ears, to make you the facile insti-umeuts of their de- 



22 



signs. Happily you" are situated in a community of high 
moral tone; but in all communities there are some bad men, 
designing men, some men, too, who are good enough, but 
weak, small men, who would not know any better than to sac- 
rifice the University to their particular church, or their little 
coterie, or, perhaps, to their family connexions. It would be 
strange if such influences might not operate even here in 
Bloomington. Have nothing to do with them. Maintain 
your own independence. Let your motto be kindness and 
gentlemanly bearing to all; entangling alliances with none. 
Your business, your friendships, your ties, your associations, 
should be mainly here; should cluster around this college build- 
ing. 

Nearly allied to this is another sentiment. It is to the col- 
lege what patriotism is to country; it is what home affection 
is to the family. It is commonly called esprit du corps; it is 
community feeling. No body of men can be effective as a 
body, or even long exist as such, without it. It is the very 
life of our colleges. It is the element of their success; the 
sword of their power. 

When that old college building, uncomely in aspect though 
it may have been, but around which clustered so many sa- 
cred associations; when your Society halls, adorned with so 
much taste from the little savings of your pocket money; 
when your Society libraries, collected book by book, with so 
much pains; when the college library — that monument of the 
judicious learning of Dr. Wylie; when these all were lying in 
ashes — not a book saved — the very bell which called you to- 
gether a molten mass; blackened and tumbling walls the only 
memorial; when the same dastard villainy which had before 
deposited the anonymous or fictitious letter, had at last ap- 
plied the midnight torch, and fraud and incendiarism were in 
secret places chuckling over their work; when dismay sat up- 
on the countenances of all good citizens; in that dark hour,, 
some of you of this Senior class, and some of the two prece- 
ding ones, met, a little band, in that dilapidated room of the 
old college building and resolved to stand by the University ^ 
and sent forth to your fellow-students, then scattered in dif- 
ferent parts of the State, the rallying call; and soon the re- 



2S 

sponse came back from Lafayette, from Terre Haute, from 
Evansville, from New Albany: "We will, to the last, standby 
the old University; by our cherished Alma Mater;" this first 
gave the assurance of hope that all was not lost. To remind 
you of the spirit of that day, I beg to read a few sentences 
from the appeal which this noble band of young men sent 
forth to their fellow-students. It should be framed and cover- 
ed with glass, and hung up in the halls and public rooms of 
the University, as a perpetual memorial. It is dated April 
12, 1854, just after the fire: 

-"At a meeting of the Students remaining in Bloomington 
during the present vacation, the undersigned were appointed 
a committee to address you in relation to the great calamity 
which has befallen our beloved Alma Mater. 

"The main University edifice, with the Chapel where we 
have so often met, and our beautiful Society halls, and our 
Libraries, are a smouldering mass of ruins. 

"It is with sad hearts that we turn our eyes to the blacken- 
ed walls, where cluster so many pleasant recollections of the 
past. You will, with us, be deeply afflicted by the tidings of 
this, our common misfortune. 

"But the question arises. What shall we do as Students? 
We are directed by the unanimous voice of those at this meet- 
ing to say to you, It is our resolution to remain as students 
in the Indiana University. We will never desert her in this 
hour of trial." 

Again, with a prophecy which has proved reality, they say: 

"We have no doubt this calamity will be made the begin- 
ning of greater prosperity than ever to the Indiana University. 

"Let us, fellow-students, not be wanting — we can nowhere 
have better advantages. Let us be present and partake in 
the energy and spirit which this event awakens! Come, and 
bring with you as many others as possible." 

Had there been no such fealty among the students; had 
there been none of the spirit of the corps, the work of the de- 
stroyer would have been complete; there would now have 
been no Indiana University; its -name would have been blot- 
ted out forever. But behold '.^behold the results of your fideh- 
ty! This beautiful building, the best adapted to its purpose 



•J4 

of any in our whole country, east or west; youi" new Society 
halls; even a new library. The cry was, Every man to his 
post — every man to his duty! Citizens, Board of Trustees, 
Faculty, the Governor of the State, the Legislature, all have 
done a noble part; and the day of trial is past, the day of re- 
joicing has come. But for this spirit on your part, these re- 
sults would never have been brought about. 

There is another subject to which I will for a moment ad- 
vert, more for the purpose of confirming than of correcting, 
what I know to be your habitual feelings and deportment — 
a subject far more essential to your own character and re- 
spectability than to the comfort of your instructors. Many 
centuries since, Quintillian, himself a distinguished teacher of 
Rhetoric, said that he included almost the whole duty of 
scholars in this one piece of advice: To love those who teach 
them as they love the sciences they learn of them, and to look 
upon them as fathers from whom they derive, not the life of 
the body, but that instruction which is in a manner the life of 
the soul. On this same subject, beautifully has Gibbon, the 
historian, said: "The expression of gratitude is a virtue and a 
pleasure. A liberal mind will delight to cherish and cele- 
brate the memory of its parents; and the teachers of science 
are the parents of the mind." I am aware that it is a vice of 
the country, if not of the age, that family government has be- 
come greatly relaxed, and, as a necessary consequence, re- 
spect and veneration for parents are greatly diminished. 
That the spirit of insubordination should sometimes be ex- 
tended to instructors is not wonderful But it is, in all its 
bearings, wherever it may exist, a most unhappy and ungen- 
erous spirit. Have you not remarked, in your reading of bi- 
ography, with what aftectionate regard almost every man 
who has attained great eminence is accustomed to speak of 
the instructors of his youth? Alexander thanked the gods 
that he had Aristotle as his teacher; he did not complain of 
him as a hard and surly logician. Both Pitt and Fox, upon 
attaining the Premiership, among the first dispensations of 
their bounty, rewarded the instructors of their youth. Have 
you not remarked, too, if there be in college a downright 
dolt, he is sure to be the one most disrespectful in his feelings 



25 

and language toward his instructors? It can, indeed, hardly 
be otherwise than that he who dislikes his studies should 
transfer a portion of that dislike to the teachers of those stu- 
dies. Never was there a more false and mischievous senti- 
ment than that which seems sometimes to prevail in college, 
that the rights and interests of Faculty and students are ad- 
verse and antagonistical. They are in all respects identical. 
Is it not equally the honor and interest of both that studious- 
ness, good order, good morals, gentlemanly deportment, and 
high-toned sentiment should prevail in the little common- 
wealth to which both belong? 

I am most happy to take this opportunity of attesting my 
respect and affection for your excellent Faculty, both as a 
body and as individuals, and of bearing my humble testimony 
of their being really worthy the highest sentiments of affec- 
tion and veneration which you may cherish for them. 

I have only further to say to you who are still to continue 
as students of the University, that as your seniors in standing 
leave these halls, and as you are yourselves advanced to their 
standing, new duties and responsibilities devolve upon you. 
I charge you, young gentlemen, be true to yourselves. I 
charge you to make the most of the opportunities which are 
still to be yours. The reputation of this seat of learning is 
largely in your hands. It is not the buildings of a University, 
however magnificent; it is not its libraries; it is not its profes- 
sors, even; its students — they are the true exponents of its 
merits and usefulness. Nothing so certainly injures an insti- 
tution of education as the unworthy conduct of its students. 
It injures education itself, and creates a prejudice against it, 
and justly; for if intellectual culture have no tendency to ele- 
vate its votaries; if it neither raise nor elevate the character, 
what is it worth? It is false students — students who are no 
students — who, like hypocritical professors of rehgion, bring a 
reproach upon their name and profession. I'e you true stu- 
dents; prove yourselves worthy successors of the best of those 
who have heretofore adorned these h?lls, and let future class- 
es in this University be inspired by your example. 

I now turn to you, my dear young friends, who are about 
jSnally to leave the walls of this University. There are one or 
4 



two poiutri of tluty to which 1 vvoukl, lor a inomeiit, ask your 
attention. I desire to say to you, first of all, you must unite 
the character of the man of action and the man of study. 
For the mere book man, the mere closet student — for that 
class of whom Cicero says, ^-se Uteris abdiderunt,''^ we have, in 
a country like this, no place. You must act and sympathize 
with the society in which you live. You must bear your part 
in all its improvements; you must take an interest in all its 
concerns, and be its earnest supporters and benefactors. 
You must be in society and for society, and ready to do your 
duty, from the school meeting up to the United States Senate. 
Nor need habits of active usefulness and interest in the con- 
cerns of society withdraw you from study. The great lexi- 
cographer, Dr. Webster, a man whose Dictionary cost thirty 
years of studious labor, at all times bore his part in the inter- 
ests of men around him. He attended every town meeting, 
wrote for the newspapers on topics of common interest, and 
served in the State Legislature. There is also Dr. Bowditch 
— a name in science above every other American name — the 
translator and annotator of the Mecanique Celeste, the most 
abstruse and profound scientific work ever produced by the 
genius of man, the author of the great work on navigation, 
the tables of which are used in the commerce and navies of 
the whole world, and which every year save thousands of 
lives and millions of property, a man whose name confers re- 
nown upon his country. This great man, who, if any could 
be excused from the more active walks of life, might from the 
nature of his studies, claim such exemption, was the greater 
part of his life engaged in mere business pursuits, and was, up 
to his last moments, most efficient in every improvement and 
every good institution. Not a library, or scientific society, 
or public work, which didnot receive his aid and contributions. 
Of many such institutions he was a director, or other officer, 
requiring his personal time and attention. These illustrious 
examples prove that the man of action may be united in the 
man of study . 

Without taking such an interest in all around you, you 
cannot be eminently useful. You cannot make the best and 
highest uses of your education. You cannot be men for our 



27 

times and country. Those who, under the pretext of great 
studiousness, do not mingle in the concerns of society, do in 
fact ordinarily study less, and to less purpose, than those who 
actively participate with their fellow men in sustaining com- 
mon interests. If Dr. Webster and Dr. Bowditch had time 
for such purposes, who can pretend that they have on hand 
greater works, and cannot spare the time? 

But, young gentlemen, you must be men of study, men 
of regular, systematic habits of study;. you must gather up 
for study every scrap and fragment of unoccupied time. 
You have but commenced the life of students. You must 
be such as long as you live. If you are not, you will 
dwindle, you will be small men. You will be outstripped in 
knowledge and usefuhiess by men who have never had your 
advantages. 

It is an error too common among our professional men, 
who have enjoyed the advantages of an academic educa- 
tion, that upon entering an active life, they abandon the sys- 
tematic cultivation of literature. Gentlemen, shun this er- 
ix)r. As you go forth to your respective callings, cultivate 
and cherish, I beseech you, those sweet and silent studies, 
some taste for which, it is presumed, you have here acqui- 
red. They will give a freer and more enlarged action to 
all your mental powers; they will add dignity and respectabil- 
ity to your character; they will affordyou never-failing sour- 
ces of enjoyment and consolation; they will fill up the inter- 
stices of your time with rational amusement, and by with- 
drawing you from the influence of external things, and giving 
you an existence in the world of mind, they will render you 
less vulnerable to the shafts of adversity. All this they will 
do for you and more; and next to rehgion, they will be the 
most effective instruments in enabling you to restrain the 
wrong impulses and passions of your nature, and in ele- 
vating you to the highest dignity of rational existence. 

There is still another subject in regard to which I beg 
your attention. The love of office has in our country be- 
come a universal mania. It invades all classes — especial- 
ly does it allure and lead away the young and the ambi- 
tious. While the love of distinction is natural — to live and 



1>R 

move and act for office is degrading, it destroys inde- 
pendence of action, and makes men the subservient instru- 
ments of popular caprice. ]n a republic, there ought on 
this subject to prevail better taste and better principle. 
Gentlemen, there is no more honorable post than that of 
the private citizen. In a commonwealth — in a republic, 
there is no post above that of the independent, unofficial, 
sovereign citizen. Who has a stronger claim to our re- 
spect — our admiration — our gratitude, than the citizen, 
adorning all the relations of life, taking a true interest in 
all the concerns of his country, expressing his opinions 
with freedom and moderation, cultivating letters, seeking 
no office from his fellow-citizens, but performing with fideli- 
ty all the duties of a republican citizen? Can office, I ask, 
add any thing to such a man? 

But in politics, whether in the public or in the private sta- 
tion, you must — you ought to bear j^our part. It is the 
very theory of our government, that every man is a poli- 
tician. In a republic, by its ver}^ fundamental idea, politics 
is the business and concern of every citizen; and when 
the soberminded, the moderate, the wise, the good, aban- 
don all concern in the government of the country, when 
the great body of the people ceace to take a part in the 
republic, we have no longer a democracy, a government 
of the people — we have a demagogy, a government of peo- 
ple leaders, or rather as the word imports, people drivers, 
which in reality is a most odious aristocracy, or rather 
cacistocracy , a government of the worst men. Yet the man 
who will have nothing to do with politics, and even makes 
a merit of never meddling in political matters, contributes 
to this very end. He does his part to destroy good gov- 
ernment — the greatest temporal boon which God has be- 
stowed upon man — and that boon which distinguishes our 
country above every other country upon which the sun 
shines. 

The real, and the greate&t danger, to our government is 
that bad, corrupt men have been permitted to take the 
lead, while the body of the people have stood off and let 
them have their way. The spoils of pohtics — the steal- 



2t) 

ings of office — speculation upon government, better namect 
government robbery, have become, in an alarming de- 
gree, the order of the day; while the attention of the peo- 
ple is called off by the everlasting din of some sub-treas- 
ury question, or tariff question, or bank question, or Kan- 
sas question — each in its turn the most important that 
was ever before raised, and, until after election, involving 
the very existence of the government itself. Gentlemen, 
to whatever party you may belong, be yourselves true, goody 
and honest men, and support such, and such only, for offi;ce,. 
and do your part in driving out with a scourge the money 
dealers and moifey brohers who have to so great an extents 
converted our national capital and our State capitals into 
dens of thieves. I do not speak indiscriminately. I know 
there are now in office men as incorruptible as ever lived — 
men who went into office poor and come out poorer — men 
who went in pure and came out just as pure; I do not speak 
of any particular party, for it is notorious that where a gov- 
ernment swindle is to h-e perpetrated, about an equal number 
of each party are the confederates. I do not speak of any 
particular individual or individuals. I sp^ak in general terms, 
I am not of those wtio hold party to be unmitigated evil. 
It may be, and often is, so formed as to be evil, and only eviL 
But I do not see how men are to accomplish results, where as- 
sociation is needed to produce those results, without some 
party organization. In all free governnents parties have- 
existed, and for aught I see must continue to exist. The 
point I wish to present is this: Where bad mpn, through 
party machinery, obtain party nominations, what are good 
men to do? I say unhesitatingly, repudiate such nomination'. 
Fealty to your country, fealty to your party even, requires 
this. The correcting power of individuals is the only safety 
against corrupt party organization. Virtue and morality are 
the very basis of a commonwealth. Without them it can- 
not continue to exist. Such is the sentiment of the great 
Father of the country, Washington himself You are not 
then true to the very first principles of democratic govern- 
ment, you are not true to the State, if by your votes or your 
influence you support wicked and corrupt men, knowing or 



30 

l)elieviiig thorn to be such. Even organized government it- 
self, becoming intolerably bad, may be law^fully overthrown; 
party, acting with far less responsibility, may be more easi- 
ly corrupted, may give itself up to unprincipled leaders; and 
these must be sternly rebuked and put down, or the country 
is ruined. It is melancholy that under the drill of party dis- 
cipline, or under the excitement of party movement, men 
often so forget every public obligation as to vote for those to 
whom they would not venture to trust the smallest interests 
of their own — as to commit the highest interests of the State 
to those who notoriously violate every private duty, and are 
known to be utterly faithless in all the relations of life. 

Honesty and honor are just as necessary in politics as any 
where else — nay, are more necessary. Scorn and reject all 
such miserable, corrupting sentiments as these: policy in 
politics, available candidates — which commonly means can- 
didates without a single qualification of any kind — fighting 
them with their own weapons. 

We have fallen upon evil times. We need the counsels 
of wise and good men, and with them, we might hope that 
the distractions of the country could soon be healed. But, 
alas, instead, we have the licentiousness of the tongue and 
the licentiousness of the press — we have not only coarse 
and violent words uttered in the heat of debate, but words 
skillfully prepared as arrows poisoned with deadly herbs 
slowly gathered in Colchis and other classic fields, and even 
culled beside Cocytus and Phlegethon, rivers of hell! 

This in turn is followed by brutal force, not applied in the 
instant of sudden uprising passion, but stealthily and with 
the deliberate murderous revenge of the savage, and the- 
highest council chamber of the nation is desecrated not mere- 
ly by studied vituperation, but by the bludgeon of the bully 
and blood split on the very spot, where not long since stood 
those demi-gods of debate. Clay and Webster. 

You may, young gentlemen, gather useful lessons from 
these abhorrent scenes; you may learn how little of true 
manliness, or of the true purpose of debate, there is in pro- 
voking words, even though spoken unrebuked under cover 



31 

of privilege, and how much of vileness and infaiii}' there is 
in cowardly deeds of violence. 

Be open and outspoken, — at the same time be prudent, 
forbearing, courteous, good and true men; — be such every 
where, but most of all in affairs of church and State. In 
all your relations, as individuals, as citizens, as members of 
society, as brethren of the family of man, do your duty — 
your whole duty — earnestly, faithfully, fearlessly, manfully, 
and always with the bearing of christian gentlemen; — and, 
I pray you, let no temporary expedient or passion, or seem- 
ing present advantage swerve you for the occasion or exigen- 
cy from the right. I address each one of you in the words 
of Carlisle, "do that duty which lies nearest thee, which thou 
knowest to be duty; thy second duty will already have be- 
come plainer," — and never forget that in navigating the seas 
of this world, there is no safety but in celestial obser- 
vations, — in the guidance of that wisdom which is from 
above- 

Another duty remains in connexion with my service before 
you this evening. It devolves upon me in the name of the 
Philomathean Society to confer upon two members of the 
present senior class of the University, Messrs. S. Lybrand 
Binkley, of Tarlton, Ohio, and Joseph S. Jenckes, Jr., of 
Terre Haute, Indiana, Diplomas constituting them"graduates 
of the Society, and as testimonials of confidence and affec- 
tion, uhique gentium, wherever in the providence of God their 
lot may be cast. 

Gentlemen, be pleased to receive from me as the organ of 
the Society with which during your college life you have 
been associated, these parchments, hasce memhranas^jLS me- 
morials and testimonials which — now and hereafter — here 
and wherever you may be — in the hour of success and pros- 
perity as well as in the hour of trial or dispondency, may 
support and cheer you on — which may remind you of hopes 
cherished—of youthful honors won — of duties to be perform- 
ed — of expectations to be fulfilled — of a life to be spent in 
high and noble pursuits. Henceforth you are men dedicated 
and set apart — men appointed and devoted — you are men 
consecrated to the best interests of humanity; and I charge 



22 

you in the name of yonr companions here around you, do 
your work well. 

To-night you stand on the vantage ground — on the 
mount of privilege, crowned with the laurels which learning 
has placed upon your brows. To-morrow, you must descend 
into the vale of real life; you must take your places as wrest- 
lers in the world's gymnasium. You cannot for a moment 
tarry here, you cannot repose upon the honors you have al- 
ready won. Forward! March! is the command, and you 
must obey the destiny which bids you on. 

With us all, you are hastening to that great Commencement 
which takes place after the discipline of life's polytechny. 
Keep ever before you this Commencement, where as scholars 
who have completed your prescribed curriculum on earth, 
there will be assigned you your true and eternal standing. 
May you so pass the several stages of life's career— the 
Freshman, the Sophomore, the Junior, and the Senior, of 
your earthly existence, that when you arrive at the great 
Commencement day— the day for which all other days were 
made — there will be awarded you glory, honor, and immor- 
tality; and that the Baccalaureate then addressed you by the 
great President shall be — "Well Done, Good and Faithful 
Servants!" 



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